


Monochrome

by Michelle



Category: The Road - Cormac McCarthy
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gen Work, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-05
Updated: 2009-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle/pseuds/Michelle
Summary: When there is only black and grey left in the world, can you dream in colour?





	Monochrome

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Monochrome  
> Author: Michelle  
> Summary: When there is only black and grey left in the world, can you dream in colour?  
> Beta: Nancy  
> Genre: Gen  
> Rating: K  
> Disclaimer: The Road is Cormac McCarthy’s. It’s entirely his fault that his words are so inspiring.

He watches the boy sleep, the small fire they built illuminating his thin form and painting otherwordly shadows on his features. Watches his frail body, way to skinny even for his age. His face black with dirt and ash. The rags he wears old, tattered, looted from some abandoned house. Belonging to some child countless miles away, a world away. Long dead, not needing them anymore.

What are your dreams? he wonders. What does your mind show you when you’re asleep? Is there even anything to dream about when you don’t know blue sky. When you’ve never seen a rose garden in full bloom. Never ran a bike at full speed. Never had a pup that slept in your bed and nudged your face with its cold wet nose. Maybe in your dreams you have a thousand words for grey. For the dark night. For the gnawing hunger. For the constant fear. The absence of hope.

He scoots closer to the boy for warmth and the child’s arms wrap around him in sleep, an unconscious gesture. He always thought the boy was the lucky of the two, because he need not carry the memory of the world as it was. Because he cannot miss what he does not know. Surely there must be some comfort in that.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he himself is the lucky one. He has memories at least. Has dreams, at least. And one day, not far from now, they’ll swallow him up and carry him away. And he won’t have to get up again, because what he’s been walking towards is finally there, is death. And maybe the sky will be blue again and the trees will be green. But even if only nothingness welcomes him, he will greet it with a smile.


End file.
